


Where Poppies Blow

by little0bird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, McGonagall served in World War II, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Remembrance Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: McGonagall let out a slow breath.  ‘It’s the eleventh of November, Potter.’  The line between her brows deepened with exasperation at the blank look on Harry’s face.  ‘It’s Remembrance Day,’ she told him, as if he were a particularly slow and stupid first year.  ‘I attend a ceremony each year, if I’m able.’‘Oh.  Right.’  Harry gestured to the poppy on her coat.  ‘I didn’t know you had family in the Muggle armed forces.’
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Where Poppies Blow

**Author's Note:**

> In my AU HP-verse, Minerva McGonagall served in World War II, so when she can leave Hogwarts, she goes to London for Remembrance Day.

Harry strode toward the lifts in the Ministry atrium when he ran into the last person in the world he expected to see. Professor McGonagall stood in the atrium, an immovable force around which Ministry employees moved in swirls and eddies. She was absorbed in pinning something to the left lapel of her dark Muggle coat. Her hands fell to her sides, and Harry could see it was one of the ubiquitous red poppies he’d seen on Muggles the past several days. He had vague memories of learning about them in primary school. He thought — not very confidently — that it had something to do with the First World War. He quickly walked to her. ‘Professor,’ he said by way of a greeting.

‘Potter.’

‘Erm… What brings you to London?’ The appearance of McGonagall outside of Hogwarts was deeply disconcerting to Harry. 

McGonagall gave him a somewhat annoyed look. ‘Do I need to clear my social calendar wi’ you, Potter?’ she said somewhat acidly.

‘No, Professor.’ Harry awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Just making conversation…’

McGonagall let out a slow breath. ‘It’s the eleventh of November, Potter.’ The line between her brows deepened with exasperation at the blank look on Harry’s face. ‘It’s Remembrance Day,’ she told him, as if he were a particularly slow and stupid first year. ‘I attend a ceremony each year, if I’m able.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Harry gestured to the poppy on her coat. ‘I didn’t know you had family in the Muggle armed forces.’

‘You could say that,’ McGonagall said. ‘It was me. I served in World War II.’ She ran a fingertip over a silver ring she wore on her right hand with a butterfly-light touch. ‘And I lost someone very important to me. He died in North Africa.’

Harry just barely managed to not let his mouth fall open at the idea that McGonagall had once had a boyfriend or fiancé. There was something in her expression that made Harry blurt, ‘Would you mind some company?’

The lines of McGonagall’s face softened a little. ‘I would greatly appreciate your company, Potter.’ 

Harry followed her to the exit, buttoning his coat. It was a raw, grey day that promised rain. Just outside the Ministry, he spotted a grizzled older man holding a collection tin and a tray of poppies. Harry groped in his coat pockets, emerging with a crumpled five pound note. He dropped it into the tin and accepted the poppy the man handed him. Harry pinned it to his coat and followed McGonagall to the Cenotaph, just a few blocks away. 

‘Professor…? Who do come here for?’ Harry almost immediately regretted asking such a personal question.

McGonagall pulled a pair of gloves from her coat pocket and tugged them over her fingers. ‘Alasdair,’ she said finally. ‘We were…’ She hesitated. ‘Very good friends. He was killed in Kasserine.’ She slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat. ‘I shared quarters with a group of Americans. They all fought for a belief, even when their home country failed to live up to it.’ She gazed at the edifice of the Cenotaph, brow furrowed. ‘Some even fought while the country they fought for imprisoned their families.’ McGonagall grew silent, lost in the mists of her own memories, Harry thought. ‘Who would you remember?’ she asked.

Harry grazed the edges of the poppy with his fingertips. ‘My mum and dad,’ he said automatically. ‘Sirius. Remus. Fred.’ He remembered the silent woman who had given Neville a crumpled gum wrapper as if it had been infused with the Elixir of Life. ‘Neville’s mum and dad. Tonks. Ted Tonks. Mad-Eye. Professor Dumbeldore. Dobby.’ Harry’s voice cracked, and he felt McGonagall push a handkerchief into his hand. She tactfully looked away while Harry collected himself. The gathering crowd reminded him of the informal gathering at supervisor’s house last spring. Too many other names began to rush through his head. Names of people that time would soon forget, who had given their lives to wizarding wars. ‘Why don’t we do something like this?’ he asked. ‘Something formal like this to remember the ones who fought in our wars?’

McGonagall gave him a sidelong glance. ‘That, Potter, is an excellent question.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Perhaps someday we will.’

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> In remembrance of my grandfather who served in the Navy in World War II.


End file.
